Swinging around, Cami heard the pinging tone as her software did its job. Rosalind's phone was open now. With both phones available, she could search the dating app on each and see if the two women had any profile views or interactions in common.

  If they did, then those watching eyes might have belonged to the killer.

  Feeling determined, Cami flicked through Rosalind's phone, hoping that this next step would bring results.

  The first thing she saw was that Rosalind had deleted the dating app on her phone a couple of months ago, but that didn't matter. Her profile was still visible on the site, and there was enough archived evidence still in her phone. All she had to do was burrow deeper into the records to search for it.

  "Contacts in common, views in common, messages in common," she muttered to herself, looking from one device to the other, switching to another application on her laptop for faster hunting.

  And then, after fidgeting for just a minute as she waited, it came up with an answer.

  "I've got someone," she told Connor triumphantly. "His name's Roger Harwood, and he works for a tech company in central Boston."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Roger Harwood. Cami stared down at his face, feeling a surge of determination. He'd messaged Antoinette more than once in the past few weeks, wanting to meet up, and he'd viewed Rosalind's profile recently, even after she'd deleted the dating app.

  She took a look at who he was. Twenty-eight years old, an IT security tech, working for a company called White Noise in central Boston.

  "Connor, this might be our guy," Cami said, her voice squeaky with excitement.

  Connor, who'd been watching quietly, stepped closer and leaned in, looking at the screen, where Roger's face stared back. He was dark haired, with a square jaw and a smile that Cami thought looked predatory.

  "He's certainly worth checking out," he said.

  "He's viewed both women's profiles recently. And he works in tech. And he wanted to meet up with Antoinette. Read these messages," Cami said.

  Connor read them, his expression growing more serious by the second.

  "Hey gorgeous. Want to hook up for a drink?"

  Antoinette hadn't responded, but that hadn't stopped Roger.

  "Come on, I'm not asking for much. Just one drink. What do you say? Let me take you out. I'll make it worth your while."

  This time, Antoinette had responded with a brief, "No, thanks."

  "Come on. You're so cute and hot. I want to get together with you."

  "Stop harassing me or I'll report your profile," she'd retorted.

  "Oh, wow. You're quick to get nasty. I don't think that's fair. Do you treat all guys the same way, who ask you politely on a date?"

  She'd ignored that message, too, but Roger had continued.

  "You might find we’ll meet up anyway," he'd threatened. "I can be a determined guy and trust me, I get what I want."

  Again, Antoinette had not replied, and this time, Roger had gotten even more aggressive.

  "Trust me," he'd messaged, "I will get what I want. I always do. Don't doubt it for a second. And you might just regret not treating me better."

  Reading that, Cami saw Connor's eyebrows raise.

  "Let's get to White Noise now and find this guy," he said.

  ***

  White Noise was in a part of town where a few major banks and finance companies were located. Smart high-rises were interspersed with parks, eateries, and a couple of chain hotels. The tech company occupied the first floor of an office park that was set in grassy, treed grounds.

  Connor walked into the reception area and headed straight for the front desk. Looking up, Cami saw here what she'd wished for at Antoinette's place—the beady eyes of security cameras.

  "FBI. We're here to see Roger Harwood," Connor said to the receptionist. "It's in connection with a case. We need information from him urgently."

  The receptionist, dark haired with tortoiseshell framed eyeglasses and red lipstick, looked startled. She looked Connor up and down, then produced an iPad and took a photo of his ID.

  “I don’t know if I’m authorized to give you the information,” she said nervously.

  “Ma’am, this is law enforcement business, and we’re here on a murder case. You can delay us, or you can cooperate. Cooperation will be much wiser. We’re not requesting any confidential information, just the quickest way of talking to someone.” Connor’s voice was smooth, and Cami could see he’d used the right argument, and the right tone, to get through to her.

  "One moment," she said. She glanced across to her screen, scrolling with her mouse.

  "He's attending a meeting at a client's offices," she said. "That meeting ended half an hour ago, so he should be back any minute."

  She glanced outside at the parking lot beyond the building, which was clearly where he would arrive.

  "What vehicle does he drive? We'll wait for him," Connor said.

  "He drives a silver BMW," the receptionist replied, making Cami think that he was doing well for himself also at this tech firm. A high earner, had he felt entitled to get what he thought he deserved in other areas—or take it?

  Connor strode to the door, and Cami followed. She agreed speed was important here because they needed to speak to Roger before he was warned. She'd seen what happened when guilty people found out the police were looking for them.

  They waited, Cami's heart thudding, her mouth suddenly dry. A few cars came and went. The parking lot was busy. Business, lots of it, was being done here. People were coming and going, and she stared around, trying to keep an eye out on who was where.

  She didn't want to miss him. And she didn't want him to miss them.

  Then a silver BMW pulled impatiently into the parking lot with a squeal of wheels. The driver, a man with dark hair, stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the building. He was tall, Cami saw, wearing black pants, a collared shirt without a tie, and a leather jacket. He had a backpack slung over his shoulders.

  "Let's go talk to Mr. Harwood," Connor muttered.

  Cami followed close behind as Connor strode up to him, his badge in his hand.

  "Roger Harwood?" he said. "FBI here. We need to ask you some questions."

  The man stopped dead in his tracks, his face going pale. Cami saw a look of horror in his eyes.

  "What's this about?" he asked warily.

  "It's in connection with a serial murder case," Connor began.

  But, to Cami's astonishment, Roger didn't even stick around long enough for him to complete his sentence.

  He turned and ran, sprinting out of the parking lot, his backpack thudding as he fled.

  "Hey!" Connor shouted. "Come back here! This is a police order!"

  Roger wasn't listening to the police. He was hotfooting it out of the parking, across the road, and into the treed grounds of the office park.

  Cami and Connor gave chase, but he was fast. He ducked in and out of the trees, sprinting for the other side of the park.

  He had a heavy backpack on, presumably with a laptop inside, and Cami hoped that would slow him down, but the problem was it didn't seem to be slowing him enough. Or maybe it was the sheer rush of adrenaline-fueled terror that was causing this burst of speed.

  Either way, it was clear that Roger was not going to give up easily, and he was getting away.

  Cami felt a surge of frustration as she watched him go while fighting to keep pace. She was already falling behind him and Connor. This was their only lead so far, and he was a strong one, with links to both victims. If they lost him now, they'd have no way of finding out who the killer was.

  Cami pushed herself further, her heart pounding and her breath ragged, as she ran after the fleeing Roger.

  She had forgotten that the FBI involved so much running. No wonder agents had to go through such arduous physical training, she reminded herself, as she almost stumbled over a loose flagstone, saving herself just in time.

  The park ahead was filled with trees, many already bare, and crisscrossed paths, all now wet with rain and slippery. Roger was heading for the exit, and although Cami and Connor were getting closer, it was clear they weren't going to catch him in time. And sadly for Cami, the park's exits had no remote controls. They were simply gaps in the fence, with gates that were clearly manually closed after hours. There was no way for her to use IT to help them at this time.

  But perhaps she could still use her perception. It was all that could help her now because Connor was in full pursuit, and she was lagging badly behind.

  What could she do?

  Cami faltered to a stop, gasping. That run had taken everything out of her. She wasn't a runner. But now that she was looking at the park, she saw that the exit he was racing for led to a main road.

  He could go right or left. If he went right, he'd end up literally running past the local police department, Cami saw, noticing the signage.

  Would he really do such a thing?

  But if he went left, he'd head along the main road, without any turnoffs, for a while. And there was another gate, farther along in the park, that led to that same street.

  Cami had no idea what she would do if she used that gate, and he turned left, and she came face to face with him. But she might, at least, slow him down.

  With wild hope and fear warring in her mind, she veered away and ran for the other exit.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cami sprinted at top speed toward the other exit gate, fueled by adrenaline and the crazy possibility that her plan might work.

  It might work long enough for Roger to mow her down, at least?

  No, she told herself firmly, silencing the scared voice in her head as her Docs pounded over the paving. She was not going to think that way, and she was going to keep a positive mindset. She was almost at the exit now, and she could see the street beyond. Turning, she saw a figure, a tall figure, running along the paving. It was Roger, going left, and Cami felt a burst of triumph.

  She had done it. She had anticipated what he’d do and had beaten him to the street. Her plan might work, if she was fast enough, although it might also leave her in a very risky situation.

  Forcing her fears aside, she sprinted toward him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  His head jerked up as he saw her, and his eyes widened. So did hers, Cami had to admit. Running full tilt into the path of a bigger, stronger suspect was terrifying.

  “Stop! Police!” she shouted. She wasn’t actually police, and her voice was breathless and embarrassingly squeaky. But to her relief, he did exactly what she'd hoped he would do. He stumbled to a stop, turned, and saw Connor behind him, now gaining with every step.

  Then he turned back to Cami, and his eyes narrowed. Now, her heart sped up all over again. Her fears had been correct, she realized. He didn't really regard her as a threat. Connor was the threat. Cami was just someone to be cannoned through, flung aside as he sought to escape.

  He narrowed his eyes, braced his shoulders, and began pounding in her direction.

  Feeling as if she was facing down a runaway bull, Cami squared her shoulders. She was going to do her damnedest to leap into his path. Even if it meant she got hurt. She was going to stop this guy, for the sake of two women who hadn't deserved to die.

  This was going to get messy, and it was going to be painful. She knew that and accepted it as she saw Roger charge toward her.

  But before he could reach her, she saw that she'd bought enough time. Connor had caught up and was just yards away. Running in a powerful rhythm, his face was set and taut, and as he put on speed, his hand reached out. He grabbed Roger's leather jacket, and he yanked on it hard.

  Roger stumbled, his momentum dragging him back just enough.

  And Cami saw the look of panic in his eyes. He knew it was over. Connor had him. Roger wasn't giving up, though. He twisted around, trying to wrench himself out of the other man's grasp.

  “Leave me be! Let me go!” he shouted breathlessly.

  It was too late. Connor had him in an iron grip, and he wasn't letting go. Roger thrashed, his limbs windmilling, with a fair amount of strength that Cami thought would have seriously hurt Connor if any of the blows had landed.

  But they didn't land, partly because Roger was panicking, flailing around wildly, and partly because Connor was adept at dodging flailing blows. Cami watched in riveted admiration as he ducked and dove, getting himself out of the way of those thrashing fists even as he reeled the man in.

  Connor held fast, tugged hard, and with a heavy thud, Roger's knees hit the ground. He was down.

  Cami felt a wave of relief wash over her. She had done it. She had made the difference, even if it had then taken Connor's skill and strength to finally capture this fugitive.

  She stepped forward, her legs shaking and her heart pounding as she thought about what had happened, replaying the frantic chase in her mind.

  He'd run, immediately and without any reason, as soon as Connor had identified himself as FBI. Cami knew there had to be a damned good reason for that. And she couldn't wait to hear what it was.

  You're coming with us," Connor said, getting the radio off his belt.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, they were walking into the interview room of the exact same police station that Cami had spied at the edge of the office park. But now, at least, they had a suspect with them.

  Sitting in the interview room next to Connor, Cami thought that the man across the table looked nervous.

  He'd been let out of his handcuffs, because once Connor had subdued him, all the fight had gone out of him. Physically, at least. Cami wasn't sure it had gone out of his head. The way his gaze was locking with Connor's told her that he might still have a few tricks up his sleeve, even if fleeing the FBI was no longer on the list.

  "Roger Harwood," Connor said, "you were clearly asked to cooperate when police approached you. You didn't, and so, here we are. What's your reason?"

  Roger shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "I was scared," he said.

  Connor gave him a cynical stare. "Really? You, a fully grown man, holding down a high-level job in the corporate world, were scared by a man and woman identifying themselves as being from law enforcement and simply wanting information? I’ve seen people scared in those circumstances before, and what they don’t do is run the way you did."

  His tone implied that Roger had to do better if he wanted Connor to buy a word he said.

  Roger seemed to get the message. He shifted on his chair again, then looked up. "I was scared, yes," he said, "but not of the police. I was scared of what would happen to me if I was found guilty for unfair reasons. I've been watching an expose online of where people have been wrongly accused and never had the chance to fight back."

  "But there must have been some guilt in your mind? Something you'd done?" Connor pushed.

  Roger bowed his head. "There were things I'd done," he admitted. "Things I'm not proud of. I mean, we all have those scenarios rush through our head when the police arrive, don't we? But I'm an innocent man."

  There was a short silence in the room.

  "Scenarios? What scenarios would these be?" Connor was like a dog with a bone now.

  Roger exhaled deeply. "I guess—look, I'm under stress at work. I regret it when I do these things. But a couple of times, I have bullied people online. Men and women. On dating apps, on social media. I've felt bad about it after the fact, and I've often gone and deleted the comments. But I guess I have guilt about it, and I exaggerated the scenario in my own mind, about what might happen if someone reported me or said I'd been out of line, or that I’d actually made threats that got me in trouble."

  His eyes were very wide and unblinking, and Cami wondered if that might have been a smooth excuse, the type of story an intelligent man could spin. Connor clearly felt the same because he said, "Do you even know what the crime is?"

  "I guessed it was something to do with online activities," Roger mumbled.

  "It's a serial murder. Antoinette Carr and Rosalind Asher. Must we show you photos?"

  Now, Roger looked aghast. “Murder! Antoinette?”

  Connor nodded, his face stern.

  "Antoinette? No!" Roger looked absolutely floored. "I can't say I remember Rosalind; I look at a lot of profiles online, but Antoinette I remember. I tried to message her. I wasn't that nice to her. I got angry about being ignored. She took the high ground and behaved like an adult. I was just like a stupid kid."

  "You were very threatening toward her."

  Now, Roger buried his face in his hands. "I was terrible. I acted like a spoiled brat. Way out of line. I would have deleted the messages but when I went back, she'd already read them. I am so, so sorry this happened, but it wasn't me."

  Cami was now overcoming her suspicion and deciding that there was a note of truth in his voice. He didn't seem like a liar, she thought. Not that she knew much after a handful of cases, said the critical voice in her mind that seemed to speak in her father's tone.

  "Your movements earlier today?"

  With the murder having taken place this morning, his alibi earlier would clear him or not. Cami waited on the edge of her seat to hear what he'd say.

  "I was at work," he said, without a trace of hesitation. "All morning. I was in a meeting with my boss and the management team from eight until about ten-fifteen, when I had to leave in a hurry to get to this other meeting. I've just got back from there. I signed in at the other company at eleven. They're a half-hour drive away, but there was traffic along the way."

  It was a fair distance from Antoinette's house. If all his meetings aligned in terms of timing, then he wouldn't have had a chance to do this.

  "I need proof from you. Do you have it on your phone?" Connor asked.

  "Yes. Yes, I do."

  Connor took his phone from the tray and handed it to him, and Roger scrolled through. A minute later, he showed Connor various screens. Looking closely, Connor gave a nod, and Cami knew that Roger was cleared.